Its So Easy For Them
by eosdawnaurora
Summary: After a party at Abarai's place, Izuru and Hinamori both are feeling vulnerable, and having to watch Ayasegawa and Matsumoto cuddle is not helping. Prompt - feathers and silk, envy. For Springkink. Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite.


The lamplight inside Abarai's living room was low, but not so low that Izuru couldn't see. The dregs of what had been up until recently a raucous party, were apparent under the yellow glow. Everyone around him had passed out - Hisagi, Matsumoto, Ayasegawa, the blonde Kotetsu sister - all of them were hunched over or sprawled in small groups across the tatami. Madarame was laying half in and half out of the shoji doors and onto the narrow slats of the veranda. Empty green sake bottles and tiny, white porcelain cups lined the two low tables, some still upright or in the loose grasp of a dozing shinigami.

The room would have likely smelled a lot worse if the doors weren't open, but there was still the stench of stale sweat, mixed with spilled sake and beer smuggled in from the living world.

Abarai's parties always drew an interesting mix of people; he had friends in virtually every division. In his drunken state Izuru hadn't noticed his former classmate step out, but he couldn't see him or his plume of striking red hair among the others.

"Kira?"

Izuru blearily looked down and realized the soft voice had come from someone leaning against his left arm. He almost said 'Momo', but caught himself, managing a slightly slurred, "Oh. Hinamori?"

She blinked and smiled a little, her head raising off his shoulder. "Ah good, I'm not the only one awake. Abarai went outside. I think he overdid it."

Before he passed out, Izuru vaguely recalled Abarai holding two sake bottles and alternating which one he drank out of by the direction his head was lolling. "Every time I say it's the last time I play a drinking game with Matsumoto, I end up lying," he replied, displeased with the dry, bitter taste lingering in his mouth. Such games were always fun when they started; at least he was still wearing clothes. It didn't look like he'd done anything regrettable, though his proximity to Hinamori was a bit alarming.

"Just can't resist her charms, eh?" Hinamori giggled.

He tried to act offended, but his limbs were playing at imitating noodles. "It's not that."

"Of course not," she sighed. "I wish she'd stop doing that trick with the sake cup between her breasts. It gets old."

Izuru would never openly admit he'd ever been drunk enough to sip from a cup that was sitting in the cleft of Matsumoto's bosom, but he was fairly certain pictures of him doing so already existed. "She just enjoys the attention."

"She doesn't have to do that sort of thing to get noticed, with the way she looks. It's so unfair," Hinamori said, arms crossed and almost glowering at the other woman a few feet away from her.

"Is it?"

"Look at them," she said, nodding towards where Matsumoto and Ayasegawa were entangled like a pair of lithe, black-plumaged birds across from them. Matsumoto had her head in his lap, and it was easy to see one of Ayasegawa's deceptively delicate white hands wound in the silky waves of her honey-blonde hair. They made a gorgeous pair, looking less gods of death than gods of beauty and love. Izuru felt vaguely disgusted at his own romantic notions.

"What about them? They got drunk and passed out on each other." Even completely sloshed, Ayasegawa didn't have a hair out of place - or a feather.

Hinamori snorted. "His other hand's inside her kimono. I always thought Ayasegawa was the sort that didn't like women like that."

Now that she'd pointed it out, Izuru couldn't help looking and wished he hadn't as his face turned red. "I'm fairly certain he likes anything that's pretty."

"Are you saying I'm not pretty?" she accused, eyes glassy and her mouth making a ridiculous pout. She tried to tap his shoulder with her fist and missed, almost falling over him.

Izuru narrowed his eyes at her, his vision wobbling. She didn't laugh so he wasn't sure if she was serious or not. "Hey, don't talk like that. You're more than pretty, and those two are freaks of nature. As if you'd want that guy feeling you up anyway," he said in irritation at both his inability to give her a better answer, and her twisting of his words.

"I wonder..." she started to say, and let her head drop to his shoulder again.

"Wonder what?" He hated when she got melancholy. It usually meant she was thinking about her former captain. There wasn't enough sake in the world to help them forget what Aizen and Ichimaru had done to them, or to her. "What happened, it had nothing to do with the way you look, Hinamori. We were all deceived and betrayed, and you deserved none of it." It wasn't like Matsumoto's beauty was enough to tie down Ichimaru; nor did Hinamori's complete devotion quell Aizen's homicidal urges. To people like that, they were meaningless objects to toy with.

"You like her, I bet."

He really hoped that it wasn't genuine envy he saw tainting Hinamori's otherwise soft expression. Izuru knew what she meant, though he wondered if he was well enough in control of his faculties to give her an answer. Though Izuru didn't much like seeing Matsumoto in Ayasegawa's arms, Izuru couldn't fault her for finding what fleeting happiness she could. "Even if I did, it wouldn't matter. There's only one person she wants." And it wasn't Ayasagawa or himself.

He heard her make a little laugh in her throat. "That's what I like about you Kira. You always see to the heart of things." Hinamori's voice trailed off, almost a whisper, and her eyes were closed when he looked down. He wanted to say that if what she said was true, he could have saved them both a world of pain, but the words were too cold, too bitter and she had been reclaimed by oblivion.

The shuffle of unsteady footsteps broke the descent of his train of thought. Abarai was leaning heavily on the door frame, taking in the disheveled state of his guests. "You guys okay?" he said as their eyes met.

"I think so," he said, his attention going back to Hinamori.

"Want me to take her home?" Abarai was prodding Madarame in the thigh with his bare foot, and the other man swatted weakly and grumbled at his aggressor.

"No. If it's okay I'll just sit with her here for a while. Where did Kuchiki go?"

Abarai's face lit up red from what Izuru guessed was embarrassment - which was a little absurd, considering he'd just been outside puking. "Uh... she's..." he stammered, rubbing the back of his head. Hearing a muffled moaning sound he turned away, his eyes fixing on another pair, who were not quite as unconscious as Izuru had supposed. "Damn it, what the hell are you two doing over there? Go back to your own quarters if you're gonna do that crap."

Ayasagawa's head lifted from the part of Matsumoto's neck he'd been buried in, and he and Matsumoto giggled and helped each other up. Matsumoto grabbed an unfinished bottle, and they wobbled together out the door, deftly avoiding Madarame.

Abarai's tattooed eyebrows rose until they were almost completely under his headband. "I thought those two were still pissed off at each other. Wonder what got into them?"

"About five bottles," Izuru said. "I more than helped them out."

Rubbing his temples, his friend chuckled and leaned over to pick up a spilled bottle and a pair of cups near his feet, setting them on the table. "I lost count. Man, I'm just gonna clean this up tomorrow."

"I'll help out, but you'll have to make me and Hinamori breakfast," he said. Abarai laughed and nodded.

"Hey Kira, by the way," he said, turning his head back a little, but not facing him as he went over to go rouse and kick out Hisagi and Kotetsu.

"Yeah?"

"Next time just kiss her or something. Hinamori forgave you a long time ago." He guided his wobbly guests to the door, and accepted a sloppy kiss and hug from Kotetsu and a slap on the back from Hisagi.

"Oh. Uh, sure." He was too drunk for this. Too drunk to even be embarrassed.

Abarai shook his head, and reached up to work the thick leather tie out of his hair. "Damn stick up yer ass nobles. I'm going to bed."


End file.
